


Opened Hands, Closed Fists

by Sinning_Satan (Inactive_Account)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Domestic Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Physical Abuse, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-22
Updated: 2017-11-01
Packaged: 2019-01-21 11:45:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12457077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inactive_Account/pseuds/Sinning_Satan
Summary: Coran discovers that Lance has endured physical abuse at the hands of Shiro.He is determined to help his friend and protect him.





	1. Chapter 1

Coran stood with hand raised.

The human custom of ‘knocking’ was easy to grasp, but it was also a firm commitment. It was impossible to revoke the ‘request’ of entry once the knock was made, which meant that one was obliged to enter any given room, and to refuse entry would be both confusing to the occupant _and_ an insult to them. Coran lowered his hand with a sigh. He looked down to the gloved digits and stared at his open palm, as he gnawed at the inside of his lips.

He drew in a deep breath and raised his head high. The racing of his heart was loud enough to deafen him to all other noise, while his toes fidgeted within his slippers for want of an action, and – as he pulled at his Altean night-shirt – a cold sweat broke over him. Coran clasped his hands behind his back, just above the buttocks, and bounced on the heels of his feet, as he forced a smile and mentally planned what would be said. No words came to mind. He furrowed his brow and pursed his lips, before his shoulders slumped with his sigh.

“Ah,” chanced Coran. “Are you decent, lad?”

Coran marched through the automatic doors; it took his eyes a few seconds to adjust to the absolute darkness, penetrated only by the severe glow from the old-fashioned screen centre of the room, and – for a moment – he nearly tripped over Lance upon the floor. Lance was hunched over in Altean nightwear, eyes fixated upon the screen and hands clenched upon a controller to a somewhat violent game. The knuckles were deathly white, while his hair was ruffled and mussed as if being awoken from a deep sleep. Coran bent forward with a smile.

“Ah, have you been playing this all evening?”

“Yeah, so what?” Lance spat.

“Well, I just wanted to ask a _teensy_ bit of a favour.” Coran blushed and scratched at his cheek with a gloved finger. “It seems these slipperies have – ah – badly affected my skin. I may have a _wee_ bit of an – er – spot . . . yes, let’s say that. It’s an awful lot like being a teenager again, which was _most_ difficult the first time around, in any case do you _maybe_. . .”

Coran angled his head away from the screen, so that – as Lance paused the game – he wouldn’t see the angry red spot upon the side of his face. It was unfortunately also inside the wrinkles at the corner of his eye, so that it was highlighted with every smile or frown or wink, which only made matters worse. Lance refused to look upon him, even as his fingers lightly traced patterns over the buttons of the controller, and those blue eyes were lost as he sat with his back to Coran. Coran scratched at his neck, as he chuckled and shrugged.

“I’ve seen you about in your face-masks,” continued Coran. “You have such beautiful skin! I know we’ve traded secrets a few times, with you using my moisturiser and me using your masks, so I thought you might have something that could help? I daren’t really go to the others. I’d be a bit too embarrassed. They already see me as the kooky old uncle.”

“Oh! I have just the thing that will help, Coran. Hold on a tic.”

“Thank you, my boy. I appreciate it.”

Lance jumped to his feet. He carefully angled his body so as to keep his head low and back to Coran, but ran to his desk where an array of beauty products were sprawled across the metal, and – as he lifted and dropped various products – Coran sagged his shoulders to realise he wouldn’t get to see that face one last time before sleep. The room was humid and reeked of sweat, enough that Coran looked to the sheets upon the bed and saw them tangled and creased and bunched at the fair corner into a large pile. Lance mumbled:

“Hey. I’m sorry for snapping at you.”

The background music to the game continued on low, while Lance clutched a small jar to his chest in both hands, and – as Coran squinted to see better in the darkness – he noted a sad smile to Lance’s lips and a sheen to his eye. He faced the wall, unwilling to face Coran head on, and so Coran could only see one side to his face, and yet there was something that lingered in the air unspoken that put Coran on edge. He drew in a sharp breath.

“Don’t mention it,” said Coran.

“I was just . . . tired.”

“No, you were too engrossed in your game,” teased Coran with a wink. “I know you and Pidge with your wee addictions to these silly pixels on a screen. Don’t you worry! I’ll let you get back to battling monsters and fighting demons, and I promise to bring you the rest of the bottle back in the morning, too. Good luck with that final ‘boss’, as they say!”

“Thanks, man.” Lance smiled and shrugged. “I just needed a distraction, but didn’t realise it’d gotten so late. I promise I’ll go to bed soon; I just need some downtime, like time just with me and my thoughts, but . . . yeah . . . here you go, anyway.”

“Thank you, Lance. I very much appreciate it!”

Lance turned and extended his hand. The jar was cool to the touch when Coran took it from him, even through the gloves that did little to protect from the stab of cold, and – as he lifted the jar – he caught a whiff of lavender and mint merged together in a rich aroma. Coran held it close to his chest, as he bowed to Lance in gratitude, but he noticed something when he arose that chilled his blood. A heavy weight fell upon his stomach, knocking him back a step and filling him with an overwhelming nausea. He retched and forced on the bedroom lights.

The bright lights hurt their eyes, forcing both men to blink away the burning after-images that patterned their retinas, but – thankfully – Coran adjusted first, which enabled him to take a good look upon the bruise that decorated Lance’s eyes. It turned the brown skin nearly black, while the white of the eye itself was nearly entirely red, and the skin was swollen so that he was forced to squint to even see through a slither of his eye. It looked bad.

Lance gasped and tried to spin around, but Coran grabbed his upper arms and held him in place, as he forced his closest friend to stay still before him. Lance stiffened. He started to breathe heavily and struggled against Coran, which broke Coran’s heart and brought tears to his eyes, and – as a tear fell over his cheek and moustache, leaving a salty taste upon his lip – he yanked Lance close to him and embraced him in firm hug. Lance went hard against him, until he finally softened and wept against Coran, gripping the back of his nightshirt.

“I – I’m so sorry,” cried Lance.

He buried his head into the crook of Coran’s neck. The two fists upon Coran’s back gripped so tightly that they actually threatened to bruise his skin in turn, while his chest was so wracked with sobs that Coran feared he would soon be unable to breathe, and all he could do was hold his friend and refuse to let go. Coran lifted his hand to stroke through Lance’s hair, hoping to coax him into a more relaxed state, as he whispered and begged:

“Who hurt you, Lance?”

Lance said nothing and only shook his head. Coran drew in a deep breath and led him over to the bed, where he carefully stacked the pillows at the head and swung them around, so that Coran could sit upright and so that Lance could lie upon him. It was an intimate position, with Lance lying between his legs with cheek rested upon Coran’s stomach, and Coran continued to stroke his hair and whispered lost Altean songs to him, while Lance wept. The tears only came from one eye, for the other was too bruised to be used.

“It’s nothing,” mumbled Lance.

“We need to get you into a healing pod.” Coran scrunched his eyes tightly shut. “Why’d you hide something like that? There’s nothing to be ashamed about! You have every right to be treated and healed as any of us, but we can’t help you unless we know you’re hurt. The team needs you, Lance! You’re our sharpshooter, after all. Why hide such a wound?”

“Because – Because you wouldn’t believe me.”

“Try me,” whispered Coran. “Try me, because I promise you that I will _never_ judge you and _never_ dismiss you. If you tell us who hurt you, we can make sure that they face justice at the hands of the Voltron Alliance and bring you peace and closure.”

Coran opened his eyes and blinked away tears. He sniffed, as his lips trembled, and turned off the lights with his hand so that only the glow of the screen – and the strip of nightlight around the bed – provided any light to them. The sheets at the bottom of the bed now looked more ominous, enough that he clenched tight upon Lance, and he swallowed back a painful lump in the back of his throat, as he let out a shuddered breath and let another tear fall.

He saw no blood or any signs of a struggle, while the sheets did not look ripped or stained, but a part of him feared the worst and his stomach sank, sending waves of pain through his abdomen as he tried to comfort the weeping man against him. There were photographs framed upon the wall above the desk, mostly of the Paladins, but the largest one was simply of Lance flanked by Coran and Hunk, which – despite everything – brought a smile to Coran’s lips, as he slid down the bed to lie flat with Lance upon him.

It would have been nice to engage in such a sleepover at any other time, especially with so many years deprived of basic touch and intimacy, but the realisation of Lance’s pain made their momentary bond darken and sour, as every urge within his body sought to get justice for Lance and gain closure for him. A primal rush of adrenaline coursed through him, as he stared at the ceiling and wished for some way to fix things and make matters right.

“It was Shiro,” whispered Lance.

Coran shot open his eyes, as he held tighter to Lance. He let his eyes move across the room to a photograph of the team, with Shiro standing centre with hands upon his hips, and – as he licked at his lips – he remembered various crushes upon the eldest Paladin, where he would even try to coax him into a tight-fitting shirt. This was the man that was a leader, a role-model and a friend to all people. Shiro saved lives, but he didn’t harm others.

It was difficult to imagine, but to argue would be to prove Lance’s point that no one would believe him, and – were it to be true – Coran knew from experience that fear and isolation was what abusers counted upon. He stared up at the ceiling, while his hands came up to play with Lance’s hair, and he let out a sharp exhale of breath as he struggled to understand how someone so kind-hearted and patient could turn his hand upon a fragile soul. A part of him prayed that Lance was mistaken or perhaps lied about the perpetrator.

The air grew cold around them, as the room automatically adjusted the temperature according to Earth times, and the concession to their home world – no matter how small – brought a sigh from Lance’s lips, as he nuzzled against Coran with a sniff. The wracked cries turned into broken sobs, before Lance lifted his head to look at Coran with wide eyes that soon turned into half-lidded eyes with downturned lips. He whispered in a broken voice:

“See, you don’t believe me.”

“It’s not that,” said Coran. “I’m just trying to process what you said. I’m in a bit of shock, lad, but that’s not to say I think you’re lying at all, but just that . . . well . . . the last time I saw this level of betrayal was with – you know – _Zarkon_. It’s difficult to imagine how someone that risks his life for the team could be so – so – so cruel. I’m just a little . . . lost.”

“If you can’t believe it, how will anyone else believe it?” Lance laughed through his tears. “Don’t tell anyone, please. They’ll hate me. I’m already the fifth-wheel on a five-man team, and at any minute they’ll kick me out and replace me for good, and this –”

“One thing at a time, lad. One thing at a time.” Coran squeezed him tight and swallowed back his tears. “Let’s just deal with the immediate issues first, which is getting that eye of yours healed up, and then – when you’re ready – we can deal with the short-term, which is making sure you’re out of danger and will no longer be victimised. In the long-term, we’ll get you the therapy and support you need to feel better. Take it step-by-step, eh?”

Lance said nothing, but he did scoot upward. He laid his head on the pillow beside Coran, where the wound about his eye became clearer, and Coran – as he slowly reached up to touch the sides of the bruise – winced when Lance hissed in pain and pulled back. Coran yelped and babbled an apology to his closest friend; Lance sniffed and moved closer, with hands raised between them, so he could play with the lapels of Coran’s nightshirt, and he curled into a foetal position while Coran struggled to kick up the sheets to cover them. Lance mumbled:

“You don’t hate me?”

Coran chuckled, as he draped the sheet over Lance’s shoulders. There was a heavy stench of sweat attached to them, but nothing that couldn’t be explained by a consensual relationship or a healthy teenage libido with a strong right hand, and so – as he tucked the sheet around Lance – he said nothing and made a mental note to check tomorrow with the healing pods. It always paid to make certain on these things, but for now he whispered back:

“I could never hate you, lad.”

“You don’t even know if I’m telling the truth,” said Lance.

“Well, the way I see it, you need my friendship either way.” Coran gave a weak smile. “If you would make something up that’s so bad, you’ve got to have your reasons, whether that be depression or loneliness or to protect someone else close to you, and if you’re not making it up then you’re enduring something far beyond anything I can imagine. Either way, eh?”

“I – I don’t even know if it’s something to worry about,” admitted Lance. “I mean, it’s not all the time and he can be _really_ nice when he wants, right? Tomorrow he’ll hug me and kiss me and tell me he’ll change, and he will change . . . for a while . . . he always changes.”

“It’s easy to change, lad, but what’s hard is making those changes stick.”

“Maybe . . . Maybe he just needs me to support him.”

The way Lance’s face fell spoke volumes of the situation. It was the jaded hope of one in love with love, who desperately hoped to be loved in turn, but the shadows under his eyes . . . the downcast gaze, the partially parted lips, the sheen of unshed tears . . . it made it clear that as much as Lance wanted for a real change, he didn’t quite believe it possible. Coran hated the lump in his throat, both painful and swollen, while the tears in his eyes stung and blurred his vision, as he strove to be strong for Lance. He forced a trembling smile.

“You’re not alone any more, Lance.”

Lance broke. He threw his head against Coran’s chest and wept, until all Coran could do was to weep in turn and rub circles upon his back, and listen to the words ‘I’m sorry’ uttered over and over like a desperate mantra, as if they could make his pain go away. Coran hummed an old melody, while he looked up to the strip of nightlight around the bunk and smiled at the strange shadows it cast about the bed. He kissed Lance’s head and promised him:

“We’ll fight this together.”


	2. Chapter 2

“That’s bullshit!”

Hunk winced, as Keith leaned forward into their space. The living area was cold that day, set to a slight chill that was on par with Altean autumn weather, and Hunk regretted the sleeveless shirt and jacket that exposed his brown skin to the cold. He sat hunched over on the long sofa, while Allura sat awkwardly beside him. Allura looked beautiful in her Altean dress with hair loose, but he could sense that she was conflicted as him.

The way she raised her closed hand to her lip – the first knuckle of her index finger upon a half-chewed lip – spoke of a woman desperate to hold back her words, while her open palm rested across her breast as if to still her racing heart. He reached out to her and gently touched her knee; it brought a small smile to her lips, as she looked to him with shimmery eyes and blinked rapidly, and squeezed his hand back with a warm hand, allowing her lips to be exposed. The two of them found some small comfort. Keith continued to pace.

“Shiro wouldn’t abuse anyone,” swore Keith.

Coran clicked his tongue and folded his arms. He took a step before Lance, who stood to the far side of the sofas, almost out of sight and trapped into a literal corner of the room, and Coran – with chin raised and moustache bristling with his expressions – stared down Keith who stopped a few feet away from him. The tension in the air was palpable. Hunk swallowed hard even as his mouth grew drier and drier, while a cold sweat broke down his back and brought a shudder to him even as he looked between his friends with slumped shoulders.

“Hey, man,” said Hunk. “Lance isn’t a liar.”

“Yeah, well, he’s lying now.”

“Keith’s right,” spat Katie from the sofa opposite. “I grew up on stories of Shiro growing up, and he’s a total hero in the Garrison! You’re _really_ going to tell me that Shiro – the guy who taught our classes, the guy who helped save a universe, the guy that is our leader _–_ is secretly going around beating on Lance? I mean – come on – Lance pretty much _thrives_ on attention.”

“Aw, come on, that’s not fair!” Hunk let go of Allura and folded his arms. “If someone wanted attention, don’t you think there are – like – better ways to go about it than making up some horror stories that’d get a pretty great guy into massive trouble? Like, why lie?”

“Okay, so you think he’s telling the truth? You think Shiro hurt him?”

“I – I didn’t say _that_ ,” mumbled Hunk.

He winced and looked over to Lance. Lance fixated his eyes upon Shiro who stood at the opposite corner from him, almost lurking with crossed arms and parted legs, and he kept his back straight and head held high, while he stared down Lance in turn. Hunk bit into his lip with his canine tooth, as he saw how pale Lance looked and how – every time Shiro narrowed his eyes just slightly – he would flinch and lower his gaze. Katie huffed and sat cross-legged and cross-armed on the sofa, while Keith returned to pacing back and forth. Hunk mumbled:

“It’s just . . .”

Keith was red in the face, while Katie looked ready to draw a weapon. He could understand why the debate would leave them so heated and passionate, desperate to defend their friend and leader respectively, but – at the same time – wasn’t Lance _also_ their friend? Hunk looked to Allura who forced a smile and nodded to him, as she sat with grace with legs pressed parallel to one another and hands clenched upon her thighs. He wondered where she stood, along with Coran and Shiro, but so far nothing more was said than insults and accusations.

“Lance is my best friend, so – I don’t know – maybe I’m biased.” Hunk flinched. “I just think it’s a pretty rough situation, you know? Like, on the one hand Shiro could be this awful abuser who’s been beating up on a friend of ours, but on the other hand Lance could be a total liar who’s sadistically getting off on watching Shiro being slandered. Either way? It sucks.”

“I am – myself – inclined to believe Lance,” admitted Allura. “I think we can agree that his wound was not one self-inflicted, while the healing pods also detected older injuries, such as fractured bones and deep bruises left out of sight. It is clear one of us is the perpetrator.”

“Yeah?” Keith asked. “Who says? We don’t even know _when_ he was injured!”

“Actually, yeah, we do.” Katie interrupted: “I have the records all here, and the healing pod places the scars from a few months back at the oldest – excluding childhood injuries and various surgeries – and the newest injuries are systematic over a two month period. I even cross-referenced the times they happened, which are often periods we’re exclusively on ship.”

“I had Coran check our internal ship surveillance,” added Allura. “It is certainly true that Shiro was alone with Lance many times around the time of each of the injuries, but – as the healing pod can only give us an approximate day of injury – it also leaves Keith and Hunk as equally viable suspects, but . . . I believe Lance. If this were about attention, why not blame Keith? It is no secret that the two generally do not have an amicable relationship.”

Keith clenched his hands into tight fists. He stormed over to Lance, but was stopped when Shiro raced forward and clamped a hand upon his shoulder. It took Keith by surprise; he turned around to look up at the scarred face of his friend, whose smile brought small crinkles to the corners of his eyes, and Shiro nodded slowly to him with a squeeze of his shoulder. The gesture was intimate and platonic, but Hunk saw how Keith relaxed with the touch and his fists opened into a softer hold. He looked to Shiro with watering eyes.

The two men said nothing, but they exchanged a look that spoke dozens of words. Keith reached up to hold onto Shiro’s hand in turn, where he clasped onto it and blinked away his unshed tears, and – as they looked to one another – Shiro’s expression fell and a tear ran down his cheek and onto his still smiling lips. It was easy to believe Shiro a victim, but Hunk looked to Lance and saw tears in turn, as Lance drew in a shuddered breath and said:

“I – I swear I’m not lying.”

Keith rounded around upon Keith and opened his mouth wide, before he narrowed his eyes and stepped back, so much that he was nearly pressed against Shiro, and – as he looked Lance up and down – his lip curled and he rolled his eyes. Hunk let out a hiss of breath and stood with hands firmly upon his waist, while Katie closed her computer and looked between everyone with a quirked eyebrow. The room fell eerily silent, as Hunk listened to his heart pound within his ears, and swallowed back his rage when Keith pursed his lips in disgust.

“You’re not even gay,” accused Keith.

“No, I’m bisexual,” muttered Lance. “Hey, just because I’m not comfortable flirting with guys like I do with women . . . it – it doesn’t mean I’m not attracted to them, you – you – you _quiznak_! I was uncomfortable when people flirted back, too, alright? Shiro was different; he was a friend and he treated me well and I didn’t panic when he reciprocated, because I trusted him and knew he’d never hurt me. I – I genuinely do love him, which is why it hurts.”

“If you love him, why are you lying about him? You just said it yourself that he treated you well! He’s a part of the team. I get that you’re jealous of me, _fine_ , but this crosses a line and you’re potentially ruining a war hero’s life, just because – what – you want to get back at me or you want attention or you just feel bored? I don’t think you belong on the team.”

“Agreed,” said Katie. “At least until you get some help, Lance. I’ve found some hospitals that specialise in both domestic abuse and mental illness, and it’s not as though you couldn’t rejoin the team once you work through your issues, but you have to deal with this.”

“Seriously?” Keith spat. “You’d let him back on the team?”

“I guess, if he apologies to Shiro.”

Hunk marched across the room. He stood between Lance and Keith, ignoring the way that Coran now held Lance with his arms draped across his shoulders, and – with a harsh push – knocked Keith back until he fell into Shiro’s arms. Shiro caught him as usual, holding him close in a way that made the hairs on Hunk’s arms stand on end. He noticed that Coran held Lance with a platonic touch, never coming onto him despite his desire, while Shiro looked with dilated eyes to Keith even as he claimed a brotherly bond. Hunk spat to Keith:

“Hey, I don’t hear Shiro denying anything!”

Keith lurched forward, but was quickly yanked back by Shiro. The action brought both Allura and Katie to their feet, as they came closer, while Coran guided Lance away from the aggressive behaviour and sat him down upon the sofa. Hunk bit his lip to see how Lance trembled, and – worse – he saw how Lance flinched whenever Keith raised his voice or stepped forward, as if it were ingrained in him to expect a physical blow. Keith screamed:

“Shiro doesn’t have to prove himself!”

“Er, yeah, he kind of does,” replied Hunk. “If we were on Earth, we’d be having a trial right now and a full investigation. In case you haven’t noticed, _someone hurt Lance_! Why are you making it out like Lance is the problem? He’s the victim here! Get that? The victim.”

“Oh, sure, let him play the victim while he victimises –”

“It’s okay, Keith,” said Shiro.

Shiro touched upon Keith’s shoulder again, as he pulled Keith away. There was a low murmur of conversation from the sofa, as Coran talked endlessly to Lance and gesticulated wildly to emphasise certain point, and Lance – with occasional sniffs – would smile and wipe away a tear from his cheek. Allura simply stayed close to Hunk, while Katie took to pacing much how Keith had done. Hunk nearly missed when Shiro next spoke, as he did so with a small voice that sounded broken and haunted. Shiro whispered with tears:

“I think it’s time I quit the team.”

Allura audibly gasped. Hunk watched her throw a hand over her mouth, while her other wrapped around her stomach, and Katie screamed out a ‘what’ as she hunched over with clenched fists and glared in Lance’s direction. It was most heart-breaking to see Keith’s reaction. He pulled away from everyone, as he stood on the far side of the room, and a hand went into his hair and gripped tight, while he struggled to breathe and stared at Shiro as if looking upon a stranger for the first time. Hunk looked away, unable to see him in pain.

“What? No!” Keith blinked away tears. “We need you.”

“Clearly, this is upsetting Lance.” Shiro nodded toward Lance. “I don’t know what’s brought this about, but I know it’s my responsibility to make sure you _all_ stay safe, which includes your mental health and personal sense of self. If my leaving the team is what brings about a sense of harmony, that’s exactly what will have to happen. I’m sorry.”

“Hey, if Shiro leaves then I’m leaving, too,” said Katie. “I wanted to leave ages back, anyway, and my family is still out there . . . waiting for me. Shiro and I can take a ship to find them, maybe get them back, and – well – help the Resistance on their end.”

“I’ll go with you,” added Keith. “I’m not staying here.”

Lance jumped to his feet. The entire room turned to look at him, even as his hands shook by his side and his skin paled, and he looked from face to face with a partially opened mouth and wide eyes, all the while shaking his head and unable to stay still. Coran looked down with a sense of absolute resignation, while Allura walked over to him and held him with a hand upon his shoulder and one upon his chest, but Lance barely acknowledged her as the tears streamed down his face. Hunk walked beside him, too, as Lance begged the question:

“What about Voltron?”

“We shall think of something,” said Allura.

“Hey, I still pilot Yellow,” replied Hunk. “Allura has Blue, you have Red. If Coran can pilot Black or Green, that only leaves us one short, and – hey – I wouldn’t mind asking Shay to join our team, you know? Or there’s Lotor, what with him changing sides and all? Or we can like – I don’t know – hold auditions or something? We’ll figure it out.”

“What matters is that you’re safe, lad,” reassured Coran.

“You guys would stay with me?” Lance asked.

Coran stood and wrapped his arms around Lance. Lance hugged back and wept against his shoulder, while Allura pressed herself against him and rested her hands and head upon his back, while Hunk nudged him gently with a smile, before clasping a hand on the back of his neck in a casual and gentle manner. They stayed that way until the tears dried up, and Lance pulled back to look between them with a nervous smile and a sniff of his nose.  

They stood in relative silence for a few minutes, until Keith let out a sound of disgust and stormed over to the main doors, where the harsh light from the hallway cast dark shadows about his face, and – as he swung around – he looked Lance up and down with a cold gaze, until Lance stepped back and looked away. A terrible part of Hunk worried that Lance may have lied after all, but an equally terrible part feared he was telling the truth. He knew that this was a lose-lose situation. Hunk turned his back on Keith and sighed.

“I guess I’ll go pack my stuff,” muttered Keith.

Keith marched out into the hallway, followed by Katie and Shiro who kept their heads low and avoided looking at the direction of the others, and it was only when they finally left that Lance let out a breath he held the entire time. Lance fell forward. It seemed his knees just gave way, as Coran caught him and guided him onto the sofa, where he collapsed down and lay upon his side with tears. Allura sat at the head of the sofa and placed his head upon her lap, as she stroked at his hair and whispered soft words to him with a saddened expression.

The silence that broke was enough to force Hunk to swallow his fear, as he realised now they were unable to form Voltron and their team was permanently broken, and yet – as he looked to Lance – he saw a sense of relief that almost made it worthwhile. He knelt down before Lance and forced a smile, happy to know his best friend was finally safe and able to live life without a shred of fear. Coran stood over them and said in a warm voice:

“You are part of our family, Lance. Forever and always.”

Hunk smiled and patted Lance’s shoulder.

“Always and forever,” added Hunk.

 

 


End file.
